Roubani is seated on one of the beaten couches out in the 'hub' area of the Hestia's pilot berthings. In blues, his unbuttoned jacket signals the off-duty status as well as fatigues would have. On the table there's a white mug, filled with something steaming hot. He has a notebook braced on one knee, in which he's scribbling. A scientific calculator sits on the cushion nearby.

Kairos is chilling out at one of the round tables, curiously eying the stack of triad cards before reaching out and shuffling through them, studying them one by one. Obviously some degree of boredom has set in for the Raptor pilot, the Lieutenant looking around to find other avenues of excitement. "Hey dude. Wanna play 54 pickup?" he asks the guy with the scientific calculator. His interest piqued, Backfire stalks over to the sofa and tries to look over his shoulder to peer at what it is he's drawing. All whilst idly shuffling triad cards.

When Smalls enters from the main corridor, he is somewhat distracted by the metallic object in his hands. Quietly, he talks to himself, although to anyone not privy to the conversation, i.e., anyone else, it sounds like unintelligible mumbling. As if on auto-pilot, he plunks down at the round table that Backfire has just vacated. To be precise, in his former frontseater's seat, actually, since the chair was already drawn out. One settled, the device is set down and a smallish plastic case is retrieved from one of the many pockets of his cargo pants. Absently, he says to Kairos, "Oh, hey. Kinda busy now. Another time, yeah?" Evidently, he's unaware the question was actually addressed to Roubani.

On the page isn't quite drawing. It's all a mess of mathematics, precariously balanced complex equations that cascade down the front of the page and into the margins. Roubani looks up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, pen stilling its scratching. "Fifty-four pickup? I don't think I've heard of it, actually." His head tilts as someone else goes by. "Evening, Smalls."

Castor arrives from the Corridor B - Deck 12.
Castor has arrived.

"It's real simple," Kairos mentions to Roubani, raising a brow at the contents of the notepad but of course being unfortunate enough to have a headache by the time he finishes the first line. "You wanna play? I swear, the rules are very self explanatory." There's a matter-of-fact nod before Backfire senses the presence of the mutterings of his former ECO. "Shut up, Smalls," he says preemptively, before making eye contact with him. "Sorry Ambrose. It's kind of a reflex whenever you enter the room. You okay, man?"

Being told to shut-up is common place for said ECO, especially when coming from his former chauffeur. Without even looking up, he replies. not at all offended, "No worries, Kairos. It's not like I don't pinch my nose when you're close-by. I'm okay enough, I suppose. You?" Oh, but there is someone here other than himself and Dak. Opening the case, Ambrose cranes his head to see the Viper pilot. "Oh, heya, Poet. Sorry about the other night. Snack suddenly assaulted my stomach like some abusive boyfriend lulling his ladyfriend into a false sense of security before beating the crap outta her." A small screwdriver is removed. It would appear he's turned that table into a make-shift repair workstation.

"Oh, good, then it wasn't the talk of the cats," Roubani remarks to Ambrose. "I was afraid we'd frightened you off." He slides the pen behind his ear, looking up at Kairos and then at the cards. "Ah…why not. There aren't enough simple things around anymore. Of course, I have doomed myself to lose by saying that." He pushes the notebook aside and stands up.

Entering into the fray is one old pilot, Castor Leda, who at this point has made his way into the room without pay attention to to much going on around him but he stops to look at familiar faces as they have all congregated in one room and this causes him to pause in order to check each face.

"Golly Gee Gosh!" Dak says bombastically at Roubani's reply and walk into his trap. "I haven't gotten anyone to play in such a long time! This moment should be cherished. You ready?" There's a grin that spreads across Kairos' face. Like the kids in the commercial that say the name of the board game they're currenly advertising, Dak bellows, "Fifty-four PICKUP!!" With a lob of his arm he launches the deck of Triad cards into the air, the wind resistance causing each of the fifty-four individual entities spreading out over a large area, under the sofa and onto the floor as well as various other little places. Yeah, Poet was doomed to lose from the start. While the cards flutter to the floor much like some oversized confetti, he glances over in Small's direction. "Don't bring that up, dude. You know I'm sensitive about that."

"The cats? Nah. I mean, that kinda stuff's totally gruesome, but I've heard worse stories. Like, there was this one time my Pop-pop decided to visit Artuga Atoll in Aquaria, which is, like, in the middle of frakkin' nowhere, but he thought it'd be cool to hang-out with the primitives and whatnot, especially since he heard they had some of the best hallucinogenic herb in all of the Colonies, and he sure loved his herb. Anyway, he was expecting some kind of love-in pow-wow type stuff 'cuz Aquarians are known to be all family-oriented and fairly welcoming and whatnot, and my Pop-pop's always down for a good time. So, he gets there and he makes friends 'cuz he's really good at making friends, and he's invited to this one wild party, and there's all kinds of herb smokin' and dancing and tomfoolery, but then they get to around midnight and the scene changes. Anyway, long story short, it involves some baby parrots and this one dude holding each of 'em in his mouth, y'know, like he totally shove the head right in their, and other people then started tearing off pieces of the bird by biting into it, while the thing was still alive. So, we're talkin' wings yanked off and feathers everywhere. Anyway, Pop-pop had difficulty eating even chicken after that, but he still smokes that weed."

That all said, Smalls says to Backfire, "Oh, sorry, man. I thought we were just being honest and stuff."

Roubani actually chuckles under his breath as the cards go scattering. "Cute, Lieutenant. I would hate to see how you play 'poker'." Handily not having left his spot, he sits back down on the edge of the couch, sweeping a card or two closer with his foot. Ambrose is talking by then in the background, and Roubani merely starts spinning his pen around one of his knuckles, back and forth like a metronome. "Was that all in one breath, Smalls? Have you considered a career in the opera?"

The resident Aquarian just looks over at Smalls and he shakes his head as he looks over at Kairos and he shakes his head at the shenanigans but he says nothing for now. He takes a seat at the table and he looks back over at Ambrose for a minute and his mouth opens but nothing comes out of it as his mouth closes and…wait….is that…yes a face palm.

Dak grins at Roubani's reaction, his words causing a light little laugh. "It's OK dude, I'm just playing. I'll help ya pick up the mess." He begins gathering up the cards as the voice begins to pop up in the background. "Of course, now you know what I had to deal with every single CAP I've gone on with that sonuvabitch. The strange thing is I actually frakkin' listen to all the words he has to say," Kairos explains as each card he retrieves is placed in his hand. "Best backseater I've had, though. Kind of miss the bloke. It amuses me I'm talking about him as if he weren't here," Backfire grumbles. "Hey…Poet, is it?" He had heard Sol mention the callsign. "Who's the dumbfounded guy hanging about and starin' over there. Another one of your Kharon buddies?"

"Opera? Nah. Can't really sing, although I'm sure I've got the lungs for it. Just not the timbre, y'know? Not that it matters if you've got charisma and stage presence and sexy moves, but I don't have any of that, either." To what Kairos says, Ambrose replies, "Actually, I might be sittin' with you, again. Depends in whether or not the CAG decides to assign me doubt-CAP. 'course, he might decide to pair me with another Kharon pilot 'cuz I'm not sure he'd assign Matto to double-CAP, too." By the time he notices Castor, though, he's missed the face palming. "Heya, Shep. Wassup?" For the nonce, the small electronic device remains untouched on the table.

Iggy steps out of the Silver and Black berthings, a towel and bar of soap held in one hand. She's in off-duties and has a rather…odd expression on her face.

Roubani leans down, collecting the cards that stayed nearby. It's not the most graceful maneuver, as one might expect from someone shot in the gut a few days ago. He squares up the handful to as neat as they'll go, setting them in a stack on the table and going for a few more. "Perhaps you're trying to convince yourself he's nothing more than a multiple personality of yours, Lieutenant. Though being as I can hear him too, I'm content to declare it a shared hallucination." Two more picked up, they're added to the stack and squared up again. "Poet, yes. And that…" He lifts his chin to signal Castor. "Is Lieutenant Castor Leda, otherwise known as Shepherd, formerly known as many other things. And your name?"

A shift in tactics, "Smalls, what are you working on over there?" He then turns to looks over at Roubani as he gives an introduction of sorts and he turns his head toward Ambrose and he gives a two fingered salute. When Iggy appears the puppy turns since he isn't sure what to make of that off expression and he asks the pilot, "Everything alright over there?"

At Roubani's proposition, Dak is content to just snort and shake his head. "Well, sometimes I stand real close to the tailpipe of my Raptor during the ignition sequence so I don't have to listen to him. At least plugging your ears works, a quality really not found in hallucinations or split personalities." Eyes glance over at Castor as the man is introduced, a slight nod of his head. "Faaaaascinating." Read: not as fascinating as Kairos had hoped. "Me? Lieutenant Dak Kairos, callsign Backfire. Don't ask. And Sol, you'd better shut your frakkin' mouth about it else I'll bitch slap you so hard that you'll be seein' the occasional 2 in your binary streams." Eyes lift to see Iggy traversing from the berthings. "Hey," he mentions, a little wave before Dak's going back to pick up the cards he threw everywhere.

Iggy dips her head to the gathered folks outside the berthings, but it would appear she's aimed for the Head. "Good evening, gentlemen," she says quietly, politely. On she moves, shutting the head's hatch very quietly behind her.

Iggy heads through the exit labeled <H> Head.
Iggy has left.

"This?" Sol replies, picking up the device with the hand not holding the small screwdriver, "Mendoza asked me to take a look at it since it keeps skipping tracks." Not a good thing for the BSG equivalent of an mp3 player. At Backfire's threat, the ECO calls out, "Careful, man. I've got protec-" Iggy passes by and the word hovers, "-tion." And then he falls quiet, looking a bit dumbstruck, then dismayed, but he doesn't budge from his spot at the table.

Eddie emerges from Silver/Black berthings, civillian clothes tucked under one arm, coffee cup in the opposing hand and clad in borrowed men's sweats and t-shirt. She's doing the hangover shuffle, without a doubt. She closes the hatch behind her with a grunt, then ambles through the commons. "Boys." Eddie greets at a quiet decibel.

Leda looks over at Kairos, "I don't think you will be slapping another pilot or anyone else, Backfire, save it for the enemy." He looks over at Sol for a moment, "And good luck with the repairs." He looks over at Eddie and he says, "Mooner." His voice is kind toward the pilot but he smirks a bit noting the hangover. "Hair of the dog, Mooner?"

"Well-met, Backfire." Roubani sounds quietly amused by the Raptor Lieutenant's going on, lips twitching. His eyes flicker Iggy's way as she goes past, and he gathers another card or two up off the floor. There are cards everywhere as though a tornado had come through, which Kairos is also collecting here and there. Pushing another small handful onto the table in yet another neat stack, he sits up again and rests his arms on his knees, lifting his chin slightly to Eddie. "Good morning, Eddie. Sleep…ah…well?"

Blue eyes still directed towards the head's hatch, Ambrose murmurs, "Thanks." It's not quite a frown that forms, and he adds, "This is nothing to fix." Other things is another matter. With Eddie's arrival, however, the expression of consternation fades into something more amiable, glancing that way. "Heya, Mooner. You can thank Sketch for the lack of frostbite on your ass."

"Oh good Gods," Kairos says just as soon as Shep's words traverse into his direction, eyes closing tightly as his hand presses to his forehead. Evidently Castor's words were a bit grating for him. "Look. Smalls knows I'm not gonna hit him, dude. He's like a brother from another mother, except that mother likely hung herself 'cos her kid wouldn't close his trap." Looking at the stack of cards in his hand, he begins counting but gets sidetracked as another unknown breaches the entryway from the quarters. This time he doesn't have to ask Poet as to the identity, because, well, the name and callsign is said out loud. "No disrespect to your mom, Dude, by the way." The counting finishes. "Looks like I got thirty-four, Poet."

"Like the dead." Eddie responds to Roubani before eyeing a sliver of empty couch she looks ready to claim. "I'll set up base camp here. Try for the summit in the morning." She says at a grumble, settling down carefully not to spill her coffee. "I think the hair of the dog is still coating my tongue." Good thing she's on the late late shift tonight. The ball of clothes gets propped up behind her head as a pillow. "Anyone ever see Booster that calm and composed before?" She asks randomly. There's a curve of a smile offered to Ambrose. "I will. I'm not sure I want to know why, but I will."

Castor looks over at Backfire first and he nods his head as the man speaks, he is called Shepherd for a reason since he looks out for everyone around him, and when Backfire finishes he simply says, "Good to know you to are so close." He looks over at Roubani next and then to Eddie, "Well, you were hitting it hard last night, Mooner, color me impressed." He tilts his head, "I have not seen Booster like that before? Is something up?"

Roubani picks up his stack, setting his thumb on the top and riffling them. "Twenty-one…there seems to be a runaway loose in the wild." His eyes tip up to glance at the ceiling, as though he half-expected to see it stuck there. No dice. He shifts over slightly on the couch to give the ailing Eddie more room. "Booster?" He glances at the head's hatch, then shakes his head. "I don't know her well enough to say."

With all the talk about Booster, the look of consternation returns to Ambrose. "I have," he frowns. Evidently, it's not a good thing. "I… I probably should go check on her." Uncharacteristically, however, he isn't already on his feet to do so. He also is far less talkative than is to be expected. Looks like Iggy's not the only one who's troubled.

"That's not good," Dak replies to Roubani. He drops down to the floor and begins searching around near the bottom of the couch and searching for crevices that it may or may not have slipped into. "They're gonna kill me if I lose just one of these things. My own damn fault, I guess." Shuffle shuffle shuffle. Hands slide around under the sofa, fingers grabbing onto a couple of rather unsightly dust bunnies. "Oh, good gods," he grumbles, eyes narrowing and searching some more. Listening to the conversation about Iggy, Backfire turns his head and notes that he's not moving an inch. "What the hell's stopping you, man? Don't tell me you're too engrossed in that trinket."

"Just confirming a suspicion." Eddie says of Iggy, her words an echo into her coffee cup as she takes a slurp. Her eyes flick to Ambrose as he declares he's going to go check on the showering pilot.

Leda looks over at Eddie first and then to Ambrose and then back to the other two pilots and he is quiet for now as he attempts to figure out what this noise is all about and he remains quiet for a moment as he soaks all this in but when Ambrose makes his call on talking to Iggy he shrugs since someone else has a handle on things.

"Oh, here. What's this." Roubani tugs a stray card out from where it lodged itself between two of the upright cushions. The Queen of Hearts, which he extends to Kairos held between index and middle finger. "Keep an eye on her, sir. Once they've had a taste of freedom, it's all over." A brow's raised slightly as the conversation goes on about Iggy's calm. "I take it she's upset?" he asks, stab in the dark at this talking around the issue. Whether Ambrose goes or not, he leaves alone.

"Huh?" The trinket? "Wha?" Beat. "No." A shake of the head, then a bit more forcefully, he repeats, "Nah, not that." And so it is that Smalls in on his feet, putting the not-yer-unscrewed mp3 player into one pocket, he then returns the mini screwdriver to his mini case, and puts said case into another cargo pant pocket. "No divvying up my stuff until I'm confirmed dead," he remarks and then goes to brave the head.

Ambrose heads through the exit labeled <H> Head.
Ambrose has left.

Roubani evidently finds the last card from the deck he had spontaneously thrown up into the air, a light smile gracing Backfire's features as he stands up, wiggles his hand so that all the dustbunnies detatch, and with his own index finger and thumb he retrieves the card. "Thanks," is all he murmurs in reply, now beginning to shuffle the deck some more even though it's been completely shuffled. Before he returns the cards to their rightful place, Eddie is eyed and the grin widens. "Yo. LT Kairos. Backfire. How ya doin'." he says in introduction, reaching out with his free hand.

Leda looks around the room and he looks over at Eddie as he stands to get the woman a mug of water, no ice, that would be a luxury but he is getting water which helps with a hang over, "So, question is what is she mad about and will Smalls calm her down?" He asks as he hands the water off to Eddie and get goes back to his perch at the table.

Eddie digs an elbow into the cushion to push off, grunting until she's back on her feet. "That's probably my cue…" Maybe, just maybe, she has something to do with Iggy's mood. But not Eddie, right? Purely innocent this one. A muttered thanks is given to Castor, and then she shuffles clothes and coffee and now water around so she can oblige Kairos in a handshake. "Eddie 'Mooner' Morales. Lieutenant Lite." Or Junion Grade as the case may be. "And I'm hungover as frak." She offers with a lopsided grin.

Roubani moves his foot as Eddie stands so she doesn't land on top on it, deciding mid-swing to use the momentum to cross his legs. His own tea was long-forgotten in the face of card whirlwinds and he finally remembers it now, retrieving it and settling back. "There is a rumour about," he comments mildly after a sip of tea, "That one has to trade something in return for the particular sundries down at that place. Dare I ask?" He lifts an eyebrow at Eddie, slightly amused.

"That's cool," Kairos says after the introduction. "So you party pretty hard. Nice. I like it." Dak soon replaces the stack of cards on the table and brushes his hands. "I'ma get some rack time before I make my first CAP with Sketch. Nice playin' cards with ya, Poet. Feel better, Mooner. And uh, Leda? Take a chill pill. My man's got it handled." He pauses for a minute and finds it appropriate to announce, "I'm totally hetero, you guys. Just so you know." He starts for the hatchway to the Black berthings.

Castor looks over at Kairos as he raises an eyebrow, "Thanks for sharing." He looks at the door and he lets Smalls have this one. "Yeah….anyway…." Eyes flicker over to Roubani, "If you are worried about the price I'm sure I can get you certain things to pay your bill." He says with a grin as he looks over at Roubani and he nods his head as he looks over at Eddie, "Though, yeah, you guys did throw down last night. That was a fun trip getting everybody back home."

Eddie has too many cups, an uncomfortable wad of civvie clothing that smells like a bar, and a nasty hangover. It's not the best combination for ease of conversation. "Promised my second born child." Implying Eddie's already had a first. She smirks down at Roubani, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Wanna help me go make one?" Purely a rhetorical question, that. She knows the answer. "Later Backfire." She starts trudging towards berthings that she actually belongs to. "It was an experience, alright."

Kai arrives from the Corridor B - Deck 12.
Kai has arrived.

Roubani has his hair ruffled, which he puts up with. Because it's Eddie. "I'll pass, but do I appreciate the offer. Feel better, Eddie. I'll check on you later." A sip of tea and he nods to Kairos on his way out, looking faintly amused at the parting shot.

A light little smirk and a shake of his head, Backfire's out into the Black Berthings. Where he belongs. Yep.

Kairos heads through the exit labeled <SB> Silver and Black.
Kairos has left.

Eddie heads through the exit labeled <BG> Bronze and Gold.
Eddie has left.

Matto wanders out of Black Squadron berthing pod in a cloud of blear and into the midst of a conversation that registers strangely in the clouded mirrors of his mind here and there. "Mrr?" he wonders.

Leda is sitting at a table watching everyone come and go and for his part he isn't running arorund, in fact, it looks like he has placed himself where he can watch everyone in the room. He looks over at the bleary Matto, "Were you out drinking last night too?" He asks curiously as he turns back to look over at Eddie and she mentions having kids with Roubani and he smirks at the thought of it all but he says nothing. Then when Backfire disappears Leda diverts his attention back to those present, one less person to keep an eye on.

Kai thumps into berthings with his head down, his helmet under one arm, and one serious case of messy curls half glued to his skull, and half sticking up at odd angles. Fetching as always. He's got what looks like — and probably is — a rolled sheet of paper in his other hand, which he uses to bap the top of Castor's head, before offering it to the pilot. If he accepts, it's followed by a pen. And then a belated, "Evening, boys."

Roubani is seated on the couch in his unbuttoned blues, holding a mug of tea. There's one of his ubiquitous notebooks next to him, a sprawling minefield of mathematics scribbled all over it in pen. His calculator's on top of it, asleep. A glance at the bleary Matto, but he lets the man answer Castor's quiery himself, if he does smirk into his cup a little bit. "Good evening, Captain."

Matto smacks his lips together a few times, eyes screwing shut as he squints from Castor to Nadiv, "You're the second person to ask me that," he points out, "Maybe I -was- drunk and just didn't know it. Hey, Marek," he greets the other, shuffling in his jammies over to squint at the scribblings, next, half-crawling onto the back of the couch as he peers down.

Castor turns to look over at Kai as he makes a soft 'oof' sound and he looks over at Kai and he takes the pen, "Everything alright, Cap?" He asks curiously as looks at the paper and then at the pen. The puppy is confused and so he stands up…getting bapped in the head is sort of a wake up call to see what is going to happen next - yup, the puppy is awake, confused and awake. He looks over at Matto and he smirks a bit, "Stranger things have happened, Kissy."

"No. It's my last will and testament. I'm giving you everything but my smokes, which I'm pretty sure should rightly go to Thorn." It's voiced drily and without so much as a trace of a smile in evidence. Though Castor ought to know the Captain well enough by now, to know when he's bullshitting. "I'd appreciate if you'd sign it. All of you. I'm trying to make the rounds with it." He twitches a small smile at the trio, and continues on toward gold's pod, rather than silver's. "If one of you could drop it off in the ready room when you're done, I'd appreciate that, too." Assuming they unroll it, it's a sheet of thick paper with some notes scrawled on the back, clearly being repurposed for something else. On the other side, a rough outline where a picture's likely to go, a caption that reads 'Captain Nini 'Whiplash' Sito' and a handful of signatures already inked onto the page. Probably, it's intended to form the basis of a plaque.

Roubani doesn't seem to mind Matto peering at the notebook. The stuff on there probably barely even makes sense to him. He watches the sheets of paper changing hands and unrolling, and gives Kai a small nod. "Of course." He takes a small sip of tea, the liquid still quite hot to the tongue. "Captain, will you be available tomorrow at some point for office hours?"

Matto stretches arms out over the back of the sofa, his nicely angled peering spot turning a little too comfy as he turns his head and rests his cheek on the inside of an arm, looking to the Marek and Tinners, giving a sleepy little nod as he sprawls there, stretiching arms and back.

Castor looks over at the paper and he says, "Good to know that I'm in charge of your stuff, although, I have a feeling Nikos won't let me acctually touch it." He says with a smirk and then his response changes when he opens the sheet and then he signs it, "I'll make sure it gets to the ready room, Cap." He says softly since this is one of those 'heavy' sheets of paper, well, heavy in the emotional sense. Still though the thing is signed and then he stands and offers the paper to Roubani and Matto to sign.

Kai pauses as he's about to shove the hatch open, and gives Roubani a curt nod in return. "Sure. Just grab me after your shift." He chuckles at Castor, then lifts his helmet in 'good night' to the trio, and heads on out.

Kai heads through the exit labeled <BG> Bronze and Gold.
Kai has left.

Roubani nods back to Kai and exhales quietly through his nose, tilting his head at the signature-gathering sheet as it's passed over. He digs around for his pen and signs his name with his left-handed slant. And middle initial: 'LTJG. Nadiv M. Roubani'. Then it's handed over to Matto. "I wonder if JAG would execute a will," he muses, out of nowhere. Well, not quite nowhere, considering their activity.

Matto arcs his back a little to elbow at the back of the couch, laying out the piece of paper and just looking it over for a moment, regarding each of the signatures in turn and then considering the name of the woman herself, considering the letters pensively and blinking slowly a few moments. A stillness drawing near to meditative is interrupted by a flurry of motion that leaves a looping, mostly illegible signature in a vacant spot, sealing whatever thoughts he'd brought to mind to the memorial to the memory of the Captain person. "Not a bad idea," he remarks, voice still a little grogtastic.

Castor raises an eyebrow, "I wonder how many of us are keeping wills these days." He says as he looks back down at the sheet, "Still though this is some heavy stuff here." He looks around, "Probably going to rattle some of the other pilots here." He looks back at Matto, "Kissy, if you weren't drinking why are you so slow right now?"

"I think these pilots are a bit more resilient than perhaps they're getting credit for," Roubani comments quietly to Castor. Hands free, he picks up his tea again. Apparently if matto /was/ out drinking while sleepwalking, he wasn't there for it as he gives Matto an amused quirk of brow in mirror to the question.

Matto hands back the paper and pen, then rubs at his eyes, "Sorry, dude. I went to lie down a few minutes and ended up with a surprise nap. You know how that goes," he murbles. "You wake up more sleepy than when you went to sleep. But less tired. And all-around useless."

Leda looks over at Matto, "Fair enough, still though, maybe you've been working to hard?" He looks at the paper and then over to Roubani, "Yeah, they probably are more resilient then I am giving them credit for." He looks over at Matto and he scans the man up and down mostly out of concern for a friend.

Roubani still just looks kind of amused rather than worried. His mouth's hidden behind his cup for the most part, letting the scent of the tea cling around his face.

"Not on double shifts, no cylons have popped up at inopportune moments, I think work's treating me more or less fine, Tinners," Kissy hmurmurs, and lifts his legs to curl up on the back of the sofa like a tired kitty. "I'm fiiiiiiiiine," he yawns.

The puppy sniffs and with that the pilot backs off, "If you say so, Kissy, if you say so." He then takes a seat and he says, "Still though you look like you've been knocked about by the sleepy stick." He then smiles as he moves near the paper to keep watch over it.

"You would never make it as a vampire, Kisseus. For which I suppose we should be grateful." Roubani sets his near-empty cup down, after finishing off most of the liquid. "Woud either of you care for some tea? Coffee?"

"Hm, I shouldn't," Kissy grudgingly admits, "If I don't go back to bed in a few hours my sleep schedule will be ruined forever. Or at least until my CAP hours flipflop again," he amends. "The sleepy stick has had its merry way with me, Tinners."

"Coffee, black, thanks Poet." He looks over at Kissy, "Well, enjoy the quiet while it lasts you know because soon enough the shit is going to hit the fan and the cylons will find us." Leda says as he frowns and he thinks about seeing the face of the Padre on the deck.

Roubani amiably pats Matto's shoulder as he stands, taking his empty cup with him. That's brought to the sink first, water turned on and sloshed through it with a bit of scrubbing help from his fingers. "Well. I think we're imagining things if we still believe their MO is as simple as it once looked in the past. Sweep the galaxy for us, jump in, we fight, we run, repeat ad nauseum." His wet hand makes a gesture around that, sending some water droplets flying splat into the wall. "Perhaps a long time ago, but…there's got to be something else going on."

Matto's eyelids drift open and shut and he smiles at the shoulderpat. The smile wavers out as talk lingers on the topic of the toasterkin. "Yeah, well, I guess we have been due," he murmurs. "But if they're really planting trained clones on our salvages… yeah, this war could look a lot different, here on out."

Castor looks over at Roubani, "Any idea as to what the new MO might be since the stakes seem to have gotten higher?" He looks around the room and he says to Matto, "Clones…yeah…" He shakes his head, "Question is why make clones in the first place?"

"Why?" Roubani glances over his shoulder as though not sure if the question were a joke, holding Castor's eyes while he talks. "Why does any side in a war insert spies, Leda?" Leaving it rhetorical, he looks back at the sink and pulls a clean mug down. "As to the MO, I'm not sure. All I do know is it doesn't quite feel like it's as simple as 'kill us'."

"I'd be pretty alright with it if they decided not to," Kissy murmurs from his cozy spot, looking like he might just doze off there, precariously perched as he is. "But I'm not too keen to find out what they want to do to us instead. Especially if it involves digging at rocks."

Leda says, "Maybe it still is as simple as kill us, though, you know, I mean the guy that looked like the Padre went on the offensive pretty fast and took the CAG out. So, maybe they can get in close to take out the highest officers and…did not notice how he attacked, he went after people he knew well."

Roubani shakes his head slightly. "He did so after Passi called out his name, when there was no other option. That gun was pointed at Marek. Who was down on Sapta Rishis with him planning a training before that. If he had meant to be rid of the man, he could have easily made it look like an accident down there. And one must consider why he would bide his time so, all these months before he was spotted, if his sole purpose was to kill command." He turns over the cup and fills it with coffee, pausing to wipe the rim before heading over to Castor and holding the mug out for him. "He had access to higher than the CAG. I don't believe it's as simple as it looks. It never is." He's been looking directly at Castor through that. As he steps back, he looks back at Matto. "I suppose turnabout would be fair play. But we are dreadfully inefficient workers."

"I know, right?" Kissy murmurs back to Nadiv, "I mean, at that point, it could only be for spite. Though I suppose they've shown themselves thoroughly capable of spitefulness, by this point. What, do you mean the Marek didn't notice that the guy was the guy before?" he wonders.

Castor listens to Roubani and he offers, "Or if they plant bombs in lockers and blow up the old man. " He looks at Matto and he tilts his head, "Yeah, why didn't Papabear notice?" He turns back to Roubani, "Though think about it, Poet, everyone he shot had something going on with the Padre in one way or another." He shakes his head, "You are right, something has changed, but I don't know what is going on here."

"He was turning the gun and firing wild." Roubani sits back down on the couch. "To play Devil's advocate, who is to say he had any knowledge at all of Crydel's associates?" This point brought up, he goes on. "Once he realised he was recognised as another 'clone', he simply began shooting. Marek he shot because he knew the man's face, or saw high rank pins. The others were accidents. Just a theory." To Matto he shrugs. "I don't know. Perhaps they didn't actually meet face to face…or perhaps Marek just didn't know Crydel well enough to remember exactly what he looked like."

Matto buries his face into the crook of his elbow as the theorizing begins to make his mind ache. He listens, but in quiet. "I guess they'll show their hand in time. Either that or they won't, and we've seen the last of them. Either way, not much to do but wait and keep vigilant. Or, like, do tests, if you're a doctor."

Leda shrugs, "If he was shooting wildly why didn't he shoot at me? I was walking straight toward him firing shot after shot and he never once took aim at me." There it is, maybe survivors guilt, "Whiplash bought it and that is a tactical kill." He frowns again and he says, "Though I mean if they have clones maybe we should recheck everyone on all the ships and the colonies I mean if we catch one we could interogate it, you know."

"That technician who threw the wrench was closer to him than you were. She wasn't shot." Roubani replies. "Lieutenant Logan got up to about where I was. A foot to the right and he would taken that bullet, not me. The entire hangar bay was shooting at him. One has to be realistic about bullets; they aren't magic." As to procedure about checking for clones he just makes a sound in his throat. "And watch for their mistakes. Because they will make them."

"Everybody makes mistakes," Kisseus agrees, the three words lurching sluggishly from his lips into his elbowpit, sounding muffled and slurred as the Bunny drifts back toward slumber.

Castor chews on Roubani's words and he finally says, "Yeah, I guess so." He says as he continues to think about all of this he adds, "And losing Lieutenant Logan would have been unfortunate." He taps his fingers on the table for a moment, "Well, lets just hope their mistakes aren't fatal to us." He looks over at Kissy, "But yeah, Kissy is right."

"Mm." Roubani makes a sound in his throat that could mean just about anything. He glances at his watch and then at the slouching Matto. "Kisseus. Please go to bed. You do not know where these cushions have been."

Matto wavers— very nearly topples from his perch before he jerks awake. "Mrr?" he wonders, one eye open. "Kay," he finally replies, "I gotta pee, first," he lets Nadiv know, shimmying down to the side of the couch and staggering to his feet.

Castor looks over at Roubani and then to the pillows, "Do you know where the cushions have been?" He asks curiously as he studies the cushions and then he looks back at Roubani, "And, Poet, lets just hope they keep making mistakes since this means the enemy might not be as big or as bad as we think."

"I have good hearing and an imagination," Roubani tells Castor, drily. "It is a terrible combination." He sits forward and then stands up himself, gathering his notebook and calculator up. "And, indeed. I've got to get ready for CAP. Sleep well, when the both of you do."

Castor waves Matto off and he looks at the cushions and he gets a concerned look in his eye, "Alrighty…avoid the cushions, got it." He stands and he tosses a two fingered salute to Matto, "And I probably should get my crap together and fill out a few reports."